Part 26 (1/2)
”All right,” said I heartily, for I was very glad to help in a species of work which, I felt gave dignity to all our other labours. ”I'll get the slates out and start the men at arithmetic to-morrow evening, from the place where we left off. What will you do? Give them `Robinson Crusoe' over again?”
”No, Max, I won't do that, not just now at all events. I'll only finish the story and then begin the `Pilgrim's Progress.' You observed, no doubt that I had been extending my commentaries on `Robinson,'
especially towards the last chapters.”
”Yes--what of that?”
”Well, I am free to confess that that was intentionally done. It was a dodge, my boy, to get them into the habit of expecting, and submitting to, commentary, for I intend to come out strong in that line in my exposition of the Pilgrim--as you shall see. I brought the book with this very end, and the long winter nights, in view. And I mean to take it easy too--spin it out. I won't bore them with too much at a time.”
”Good, but don't spin it out too long, Lumley,” said I; ”you know when men set their hearts on some magnificent plan or scheme they are apt to become prosy. I suppose you'll also take the writing cla.s.s, as before?”
”I suppose I must,” returned my friend, with a sigh, ”though it goes against the grain, for I was never very good at penmans.h.i.+p, and we have lost our best scholars too, now that Waboose and her mother are gone.”
”By the way, that reminds me,” said I, ”that Waboose gave me the packet which she received from her father not long before he was drowned. Here it is.”
I drew it from my breast-pocket and held it up. ”She told me her father had said it was no use her opening it, as she could not read it, but that she was to give it to the first white man whom she could trust; you remember my mentioning that to you? she gave it to me only yesterday, and I have not yet found time to read it.”
”Did she say she could trust _you_, Max!”
”Of course she did. Why not?”
”Oh, certainly, why not?” repeated my friend, with a peculiar look.
”Did she say you might communicate its contents to _me_?”
”Well, no, she did not,” I replied, feeling rather perplexed. ”But I am quite sure that, if she meant to trust me at all, she meant to trust to my discretion in the whole matter; and--Jack Lumley,” I added, getting up and grasping my friend's hand, ”if I cannot trust _you_ I can trust n.o.body.”
”That will do,” he said, returning the squeeze. ”You are safe. Go ahead.”
The packet was wrapped in a piece of birch-bark, and tied with a bit of fibrous root. This covering removed, I found a white cambric handkerchief, inside of which was something hard. It turned out to be the miniature of a handsome man, somewhere between forty and fifty.
Beside it was a ma.n.u.script in English. On one corner of the kerchief was marked in faded ink the name ”Eve.”
Holding out the portrait I said,--”You see. I knew he was a gentleman.
This must be her father.”
”No doubt,” replied Lumley--”but what says this letter?”
Unfolding the ma.n.u.script I spread it carefully on my knee and began to read.
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
OPENING OF THE MYSTERIOUS PACKET.
The ma.n.u.script was without date or preface, and its contents interested as well as surprised us not a little. It began at once as follows:--
”Whoever receives this packet and letter from my daughter receives a sacred trust which he dare not shake off, and which I solemnly charge him in the sight of G.o.d to take up and fulfil. At the moment while I write I am well and strong, and not old. It is my firm intention, if G.o.d spares me, to pursue the course which is herein detailed, but I know too well the risk and dangers of the wilderness to feel a.s.sured that I shall live to act out my part. I therefore write down here, as briefly as I can, my story and my wishes, and shall give the letter with my miniature to my darling Waboose--whose Christian name is Eve, though she knows it not--with directions not to open it, or let it out of her hands, until she meets with a white man _whom_ _she_ _can_ _trust_, for well a.s.sured am I that the man whom my innocent and wise-hearted Eve can _trust_--be he old or young--will be a man who cannot and will not refuse the responsibility laid on him. Why I prefer to leave this packet with my daughter, instead of my dear wife, is a matter with which strangers have nothing to do.
”I begin by saying that I have been a great sinner, but thank G.o.d, I have found Jesus a great Saviour. Let this suffice. I was never given to open up my mind much, and I won't begin now--at least, not more than I can help. It is right to say, at the outset, that I have been regularly married by a travelling Wesleyan minister to my dear wife, by whom also Eve and her mother were baptized.
”My fall began in disobedience to my mother. Probably this is the case with most ne'er-do-wells. My name is William Liston. My father was a farmer in a wild part of Colorado. He died when I was a little boy, leaving my beloved mother to carry on the farm. I am their only child.